


A Spider Screams Atop A Flower

by Oatsotas



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak, F/F, Freeform, Language of Flowers, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12768684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oatsotas/pseuds/Oatsotas
Summary: A maid is never allowed to love. Love is selfish, love is distracting. A maid should be principled. Kirumi's principles of selfless devotion come at a cost, one that she was fine with paying.That is, until the music found its way to her room.





	A Spider Screams Atop A Flower

If there's one blessing in Kirumi's life, it's that over-the-counter headache medicine isn't banned by Hope's Peak. She swallows two pills quickly as she sits on her bed, rubbing her foot with her knuckle. Her classmates, while fun at times, were also a bit much.

Today alone Kokichi had managed to glue Himiko's hat to her cheek - which, naturally, ticked Tenko off; Rantaro missed his weekly call so Shuichi was a mess, worried sick about his boyfriend (when doesn't that boy worry?); to top it all off, Tsumugi and  Miu got into a mini war when Miu's invention went haywire and burnt Tsumugi's newest cosplay to a crisp.

Kirumi dealt with it all. She deserves this quiet time.

Of course, it's never truly quiet with Kaede being her neighbor. Despite the rooms being billed as "soundproof," the sweet melodies of Kaede's piano float their way through the shared wall and into Kirumi's room.

The maid closes her eyes as she listens to a gentle, tender piece. Part of it, that is. Kaede stops and starts, repeating certain parts. Kirumi doesn't mind, each time Kaede repeats, it sounds better. A true artist perfecting her craft.

Kirumi admires her dedication. Some nights, Kaede stays up well into the early hours of the morning, tirelessly playing section after section until a discordant thud signifies that she's fallen asleep at her piano. On nights like those, Kirumi stays for hours simply listening.

There's flowers on her nightstand. Plumeria. Pretty little white things with yellow centers. They were sent by Kirumi's mother, a florist. Staring at the flowers, Kirumi imagines Kaede's music dancing on them. Joyous music notes swaying around the delicate petals. A crescendo slides down the stem until it plonks into the still water below as it resolves into a chord.

Kaede stops playing. The flowers let go of their dancers, letting them free to disappear into the air. Kirumi lays back and covers her face with a pillow. The maid in her chastises that she's ruffling her uniform and messing up her hair. It's not proper that a maid would be so selfish as to ruin her appearance, especially in such a manner.

But her headache proves to be enough to silence her inner maid. Surrounded by darkness with her hot breath being blown back at her, she's alone. She opens her eyes and gazes at the dark fabric. It smells like the sweet briar detergent she uses on all of their bedding. Here, wrapped in the delicate, rosy scent, she's alone. Smooth and delicate, high thread count. Kirumi rubs her face in the pillow. A scream swells in her throat.

The scream isn't from nowhere. It's been building for some time, years even. From the time she donned that pinafore dress, it's been building. But she always stops it. It rarely passes her tongue, and never her teeth. It's there and when she's alone like this, she wants to let it out.

Music drifts into the room, penetrates her pillow prison she's incarcerated herself in. Kaede's playing a piece that Kirumi's heard many times. Clair de Lune. It's Kaede's favorite. A stream under the moonlight, silvery and calm. It washes the scream away.

Kirumi releases herself. The motion-detecting lights in the room have turned off. For a moment, Kirumi considers simply lying motionless for the rest of the night. Sleep never comes easy, nor is it particularly welcome, but to break the pristine darkness, that'd be so selfish of her.

Though the vanity light is on. From where Kirumi is laying she can see the plumerias haloed by the off-white glow. She thinks of Kaede on the other side of the wall, playing the piano, off in her own world of music.

Closing her eyes, Kirumi gets off the bed. Through her eyelids, she can tell the lights are back on. A spider exposed under a heat lamp. She finds the light switch and flicks them off. As she opens her eyes, Kaede's song is coming to a close.

Kirumi glides across her room. A dancer in a show no one's watching with accompaniment who believes herself solo. She sheds her uniform, hanging it neatly, properly before slipping into her sheer nightgown. The fabric is loose and willowy, an elegant mauve that clings to her skin for a moment before the slightest movement sends it billowing out. She grabs her pillow and holds it to her chest, like she did with her favorite stuffed spider when she was younger.

Compared to the other kids' stuffed animals, Kirumi's was always the one out of place. One show-and-tell she even frightened another girl. Her spider, a friendly boy spider she'd named "Kei," never appeared again. How selfish it would've been for her to carry something around that scared others.

Kirumi sits on the cool tile floor and rests her back against the wall, closing her eyes just as Kaede's song comes to an end. There's a brief moment in music, when all that remains is the memory of it. The time between two songs, or when the artist goes to stand and bow. It's magical. Kirumi shudders.

Soon, Kaede begins her next song. It's going to be a long night. She's been playing this piece for hours, trying to get it right. And for hours more, Kirumi listens. An auditory voyeur. Does Kaede know how many nights that Kirumi spends simply listening at their wall? Perhaps she does and on nights like this it's actually Kaede performing for Kirumi.

Though Kirumi knows that's silly. She'd never tell Kaede that she listens, especially not in this manner. The poor girl would probably get flustered and each time she played in her room would be twinged with notes of self-consciousness. No, better to keep it a secret. 

The thought of Kaede's blushing face causes Kirumi's lips to twitch into a smile. Kaede is adorable. Bubbly, kind, energetic, almost forceful. The way she bounces around their class, the way she leads them as class rep, the way she's supportive and tender and… Kirumi's breath hitches in her throat as the scream bubbles. She's admitted to herself quite some time ago that she has a crush on the pianist (though she'll never admit that it might have transformed to love).

But maids aren't allowed crushes. Crushes distract from duties. Crushes are selfish. Kirumi is principled. Selfless devotion, to her master or mistress, to her class, to all but herself. There's satisfaction in that, in completing a request and seeing the result. In helping others improve. But it's incomplete. A small hole remains in that satisfaction, one that Kirumi can never seem to fill.

Kaede begins to slip. Her mistakes are more frequent. Simple things, a finger sliding one key too far or a sharp instead of a flat. A muffled grunt of frustration.

Kirumi furrows her brow as a whim arises. It's simple: bring tea to Kaede. Millions of anxieties have always stopped her. The fear that she'll expose herself. That she'll make the tea and Kaede will be long asleep and a knock will wake her. Kirumi squeezes her pillow. 

The air conditioning kicks on; it blows a plumeria from her vanity. The flower lands on Kirumi's leg. She picks it up and examines it in the low light. Petals curl inwards and hints of brown flake off from the leaves. The stem bends and is soft in Kirumi's fingers. The flowers are dying.

It's not a big deal. Kirumi can ask her mother to send her more. Perhaps gardenias this time. And yet, as Kirumi tries to put the flower back in the vase, she can't bring herself to. The cycle will just continue. She'll receive new flowers, care for them as best she can, then wait for them to slowly die. Repeat. But never like Kaede's music. Never grow, never improve. Replace.

Though she hadn't noticed before, a spider crawls from the underside of the petal. It's small, a harmless breed. Placing her finger on the end of the petal, Kirumi allows the spider to climb onto her. A maid cannot fear something as simple as bugs.

Even as a child, Kirumi never feared spiders the way others did. While others called for shoes or blocks to squish it, she always found ways to let the spider outside.   
After sliding her slippers on, Kirumi hurriedly sneaks outside and lets the spider off onto a small patch of grass. She watches it disappear into the bushes before taking in the night. The sky is clear, pocked with stars and the full moon gazing at her. Though the air is sticky with humidity, a breeze occasionally sweeps through, caressing Kirumi through her gown. Drenched in the silvery light of the moon, it's as if Kirumi is the stream in Clair de Lune. That Kaede was so awestruck by her that she had to create a piece about her.

She heads back to her room before fantasy can overwhelm her.

But she walks past her room. To the kitchen.

Carefully, she measures out tea. With practiced efficiency, she crafts and pours out two cups of  _ hōjicha _ . An excellent tea for bed. Low in caffeine and with a sweet caramel flavor.

Placing the tea on a try, Kirumi heads back to the dorm area. The nameplate in front of her reads "Kaede Akamatsu - Ultimate Pianist." A knot is in her stomach, but her back is erect and her head is held high. A maid must never show discomfort unless it concerns an unreasonable request. Kirumi knocks on the door, crisp, polite, a perfect maid's knock.

There's a brief silence; for a second Kirumi thinks her fear that Kaede has fallen asleep is true. However, the sound of the door unlocking and the appearance of a rather disheveled Kaede assuages that fear.

"K-Kirumi!" Kaede says, jumping slightly. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she's wearing a loose t-shirt with striped pajama pants. There are bags under her eyes.

Kirumi bows slightly. "I am sorry, Kaede, but I heard you still playing and I figured that were having trouble sleeping." She pushes the tray forward. "So I have prepared tea, if you would care for it."

It's perfunctory and cold, but Kirumi manages to explain herself well enough. Kaede gives a light smile in response. "That's so sweet of you! And I'll never say no to your tea."

Moving from the doorway, Kaede extends her arm into her room. Kirumi enters and sets the tea down on a low table that Kaede had had brought in earlier in the year. Kirumi's always like Kaede's room. She keeps it neat and at least attempts to pick up after herself. At least, in the mornings she does. Right now, her day clothes lie in a heap on the ground next to her bed and sheet music is strewn around her small piano.

"Sorry about the mess," Kaede says, as if reading Kirumi's mind.

Kirumi offers a small chuckle. "It is no worry, I deal with messes every day, after all."

"That's true." Kaede sits at the table, so Kirumi hands her the tea. Kaede blows on it gently and takes a generous sip. When she lowers the cup from her mouth, a content sigh escapes. "You're tea is always delicious, Kirumi."

"I am happy that you are enjoying it," Kirumi responds, taking a sip of her own tea. Ah, a tad too hot. Something she must improve.

"Say, Kirumi," Kaede says and the maid turns her ear towards the pianist. "What are  _ you  _ doing awake this late? I'm sure you must be exhausted after everything that happened today."

Kirumi sets her tea on a coaster. "How kind of you to be concerned for me. But it is no worry. Insomnia runs in my family and I do not care for sleep much."

"Don't care for sleep?!"

Nodding, Kirumi says, "Indeed, it is much too idle for my liking. I enjoy having a task to do."

Kaede leans forward on the table, her head resting in the crook of her arm sleepily, tea already drained. "How can you do that? It's been hard just these past few days preparing for my next concert!"

"You have not been sleeping well?" Kirumi asks, despite already knowing that Kaede had spent the past three nights playing. She pulls her tongue far back into her mouth.

"Nope, there's this big concert tomorrow and I'm so nervous for it."

"Have you not done many concerts before?"

"Yeah, I have," Kaede explains. "But this one is at a jazz club downtown. Never done an entire jazz concert." She groans and buries her head in her arms. "I'm freaking out!" she says, though it's horribly muffled.

Before she can stop herself, Kirumi says, "Would it help if I attended to support you?"

Kaede's head snaps up and her eyes glimmer. "Would you? I can pay for you to get in and you don't need to be a certain age to get in and it's a pretty casual place and… " Kaede sucks in air and blushes. "Sorry, I… I just. I would love if you were there."

Kirumi's heart pounds against her chest but she manages to maintain her calm expression. She smiles warmly and more genuinely than she meant to. "All I require is a time and address and I will be there."

Kaede bursts into an ecstatic smile and she hops up from her place to wrap Kirumi in a tight hug. "Thank you! Thank you so so much!"

Placing a hand on Kaede's arm and trying to hide the insurmountable blush that's overtaken her face, Kirumi melts into Kaede's embrace. It's warm and gentle, much like Kaede herself. And there's a part of it that feels as if it's more than just a friendly hug, but Kirumi quickly pushes that selfish thought from her head. When Kaede releases her, Kirumi says, "Would you like me to invite any of the others?"

Kaede's lips twist into uncertainty. "I mean… I'd  _ like  _ them to come but, well, you know how, uh…"

"Rambunctious?"

"Yeah, rambunctious they can be." Kaede shrugs. "I dunno if I really want them at a quiet jazz club."

"I understand," Kirumi says, jotting down mental notes to herself.

"O-oh, but if you're not comfortable going by yourself, I wouldn't mind Ryoma. He'd behave himself!"

Kirumi begins packing up the tea, stacking the cups. "It is your performance. Please, tell me what will make it ideal and I will make it so."

Kaede thinks for a moment before a mischievous grin flashes on her face. "I want you to be the most at ease you can. And I know that being with Ryoma will help you relax a bit."

Her comment completely disarms Kirumi, who almost knocks over the cup stack as she goes to pick up the tray. It's true that she'd prefer to have company while at Kaede's performance and Ryoma is perhaps the one she is closest to of all her classmates. But still, it'd be selfish to indulge in her own wishes on Kaede's night. A hand rests on her shoulder, snapping her from her reverie.

"Kirumi," Kaede whispers tenderly. "It's okay, take Ryoma with you. It'll be fun."

"Right… I-I mean, of course!" Kirumi replies, standing suddenly. Walking to the door, she turns back to Kaede. "I look forward to seeing you perform. Please, get some sleep."

"You too, Kirumi."

Once she's settled back in her own room, Kirumi throws herself into her bed and burrows her face into her pillow. The elegant, professional maid acting like a frivolous little girl with a crush, it's so unseemly. And yet, Kirumi can't help but gnaw at her pillow as anticipation swells within her. To see Kaede perform and to perform in a place that is so separate from Hope's Peak, so intimate even. She's thankful that Kaede said she could bring Ryoma; she'll be able to keep her composure better if there's another there.

Before she realizes, sleep has overtaken her. She wakes several times throughout the night but manages to force herself back to sleep until the sun finally peeks over the horizon. Scampering over to her closet, her face drops as she realizes that her clothes consist entirely of uniforms and easy-to-wear sweats. There's a market downtown and her mother's shop is there, too and she can pick up a gift for Kaede and…

There's her duties. Though it's the weekend, her friends will still expect her to clean and assist them with whatever tasks they may ask of her. She slams her closet door shut and makes a decision, a selfish decision.

For the first time, Kirumi did not complete a request.

 

-

 

An afternoon rain shower helped to take most of the humidity away. Kirumi stands outside of Hope's Peak as she waits for Ryoma. She tugs at the bodice of the black off-the-shoulder skater dress. Though one of the more conservative options, Kirumi still feels exposed. The evening air touches her exposed back and the lack of stockings feels all too bizarre. Running a hand through her loose hair, Kirumi frowns.While she usually kept it in a professional curl, she'd let it down loose, a cascade of short curls.

God, she hopes it's enough. She'd spent most of the day staring at a computer screen to determine what exactly one wore to a jazz club and the rest of it shopping for said items. Her mother had been surprised to see her and even more surprised to hear that Kirumi needed flowers for a friend. After thoroughly interrogating Kirumi, her mother had disappeared into the back only to emerge with a lovely piece consisting of red and white and pink carnations as well as a sprig of arbutus. Between the carnations, stems of blue delphinium poke through.

The decorative bouquet paper crinkles as Kirumi shifts in her flats. Several websites recommended heels, but there's no way  _ that's  _ happening.

The door to Hope's Peak opens and Ryoma walks out, waving casually. He's dressed simply, a white dress shirt and tie tucked into black dress pants. He's rolled the sleeves up to his forearms. Since he's not wearing his hat, Kirumi can see the thin fuzz of brownish-red hair on his head.

"Hey," he says simply. He was never one for gregariousness, something Kirumi appreciates.

"Hello, Ryoma," Kirumi replies. "You look very handsome tonight."

"Mmm, you look good, too." If he had eyebrows (heaven knows why he shaves them), they'd be raised as he glances over Kirumi. She can feel herself blush as he says, "Daring."

"Do you think I overdid it?" the maid asks. Her back hurts with how tense she's holding it.

With a dismissive wave, Ryoma says, "Nah, you look fine." He tilts his head toward the road. "We should go though, we're gonna be late."

The two walk through the streets. The club isn't far and the evening is nice. Red sunbeams streak through the buildings and reflect off the high clouds from the earlier rain. Trees arch towards the sky, being no more than silhouettes in the low light. The crowd of people is transitioning from the daily commuters to the nighttime crowd.

Though she's usually awake, Kirumi never felt any sense of camaraderie with these people. No matter how often Miu encouraged her or how many tickets Ibuki offered, Kirumi never truly felt the kindred spirit with them.

As they approach the club, an intimidating bouncer stops them. "You guys got some IDs on ya?" he says gruffly.

Before Kirumi can respond, Ryoma pulls out his ID and hands it to the bouncer. The bouncer looks at it for a minute before nodding and moving out of the way. He doesn't check Kirumi's, she notices.

The club is dimly lit with warm lights. A stage dominates the main area, dwarfed by thick crimson curtains. Tables are spread out sporadically, each covered by heavy tablecloths. Vases with orange lilies rest on the tables. Artwork of various musicians in eclectic styles line the walls. One is replete with photographs of famous musicians who have played in the club before.

Well dressed people mingle with the relaxed comfort of regulars, flitting from table to table, kissing cheeks and catching up. Kirumi and Ryoma find a seat with a good view of the stage. Kirumi sits down while Ryoma motions towards the bar.

"I'm gonna get a drink, you want something?"

Kirumi curls her lip. Drinking underage? And so blatant. It's not as if she hasn't partaken before, but never so publically, never so brazenly. She bunches a swathe of her dress in her hand but otherwise remains stoic, professional. She can't lose her cool here. Not when Kaede's performing.

"Cognac, please," Kirumi's mouth says, not entirely with her permission.

Ryoma nods and heads toward the bar. Kirumi watches him expertly hop up to the bar stool and start chatting with the bartender. He's done this before, it's painfully obvious.

Speaking of obvious, it's how Kirumi feels. While most others are lounging around or socializing, she sits in her seat facing forward, posture perfect, face neutral. It's a maid's pose. For when she has no task, no request. The club is a slippery place. Everyone seems to flow around it, the conversations drift from one to another. Even the sun, which is thin through the curtains, seems to settle on the place, coating it in warmth.

A chill runs up Kirumi's spine as she holds her legs together. How often she's held others' skins. Massages, assistance with clothing, changing children. Yet she shivers as her bare legs touch. They touch under her nightgown, they touch when she's in the shower, so why is it now that she feels so uncomfortable? Is it because she's exposed in this unfamiliar landscape. 

Her toes curl inside her shoes. The scream is present in her throat. It's not doing anything, just sitting, waiting, urging Kirumi to let it out.

Ryoma returns carrying two glasses. He hands a snifter with amber liquid to Kirumi who takes it gratefully. Hopping up onto the chair, he sips his own glass.

"What did you get?" Kirumi asks, desperate for conversation.

"Scotch on the rocks." Simple, classic, much like Ryoma himself.

Kirumi sips her glass. Fruity warmth hits her almost immediately. A subtle intensity trills over her tongue as she holds the liquor in her mouth. Her mother was the one who introduced her to cognac. The night before Kirumi left for Hope's Peak (though could it be called leaving if it was just up the road?), her mother invited her for a drink and they spent hours talking over the stuff until the bottle ran dry and they were both giggling messes.

"What drink do you think Kaede would like?" Kirumi says, taking care that her voice gives away nothing but subservient concern.

Ryoma traces his finger around the rim of the glass as he thinks. "Something really fruity," he replies. "Sweet, too, I think."

"I agree." Kirumi takes another sip then adds, "We should get her something after her performance."

"Oh?"

"I-I mean it must be hot under those lights, she will likely be thir-"

"Kirumi," Ryoma cuts her off. He's staring directly at her. It's a brutal stare, the kind that pierce any defense you could put up. "I'm gonna tell you what will happen. When Kaede's done, I'm going to leave, but you're going to stay. And you're gonna have a nice rest of the night with Kaede, understand?"

Kirumi narrows her eyes. "You say that as if it's a certainty."

Ryoma reaches into his pocket and pulls a lighter from it. "Consider it, a request from me." He winks and flicks the lighter on before quickly snuffing it out.

"Why?" It's all she can think to say.

"I've seen how you look at her. You've got it bad."

"Am I that obvious?"

Ryoma shakes his head. "Nah, you just remind me of myself. But when we leave Hope's Peak, well, I've already lost my chance. I don't want you to lose yours."

Kirumi folds her hands in her lap and chuckles lightly. Ryoma cocks his head in confusion. "It's funny," Kirumi says. "It's usually I who is giving others advice."

Ryoma puts the lighter back in his pocket. "It's always good advice, too. But," he turns to face Kirumi fully, small body almost entirely towards her. "Don't forget that you're only human, too." He gives a thumbs up. "You've got me and Kaede."

"And Kaede?"

He shifts back to face the stage. "You're not the only one who's got it bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Shh." Ryoma puts his finger to his lips. The lights dim and two spotlights appear on stage. "She's on."

The sound of shuffling as people make their way to their seats fades into light applause as Kaede and a surly looking bass player enter the stage. Kirumi puts her hand to her mouth to keep her jaw from dropping when she sees Kaede. 

A stark red sequin dress emphasizes Kaede's curvy body. Her golden hair shines in the spotlight and a headpiece decorated with a forget-me-not holds it in elegant plaits. A strip is cut out of the side of her dress, giving her a sultry, teasing look. Despite this, her smile is as earnest and innocent as ever. A beacon of happiness that pierces even the brightest spotlight. Joy, excitement, nerves, all wrapped up and put on display with the tenacity only a performer could muster.

Kirumi barely registers the bass player introducing Kaede as the maid and pianist make eye contact with each other. While Kaede looks over the crowd, each time she spots Kirumi, her gaze lingers for just a moment. It's in that moment that Kirumi and Kaede are alone. The club disappears and Kaede reaches out. Her hand is covered by a fingerless glove.

However, Kirumi doesn't reach back. Her own hand weighed down by her maid's glove. She's back in her uniform. Dowdy and dull. In service solely to others, but never herself. To reach out, to grab Kaede's hand, would be selfish. Even if she could devote herself entirely to Kaede, it would mean others could never use her services. 

The scream beats at her chest. It roars to be let out and for the first time it makes it past Kirumi's teeth, but her lips stop it. She can feel the scream searching for an opening. Her lips are dry and cracked and filled with crevices that the scream tries to exploit. 

But Kaede's dragged away. Towards the piano, away from Kirumi. Her hand drops and the club reappears and Kirumi's back in her dress and her hand is clasped so tightly around her drink that the glass has begun to groan.

"Thank you all," Kaede's voice sounds through a small microphone. "I hope you all enjoy these next few pieces. I had a lot of fun putting them together!"

Several more musicians appear on stage and take their places. Kaede sits at the grand piano, a glass of water by her feet. The drummer sets off a count and the music begins.

Kirumi is immediately swept away as Kaede opens with a vibrant, intense piece. Drastically different from anything she's heard on those quiet nights she spent listening. Perhaps Kaede, too, doesn't want to disrupt the night with the bright, energetic rhythms.

A saxophone player begins his solo and Kaede fades into the background, her piano in service to keeping the flow going, to helping keep time and stabilize the whole performance. A rock on which the others can perch themselves on. There's a connection Kirumi feels with Kaede right now.

The two of them exist in the back, excluded from the limelight. To serve, to enhance others. Always present, never the focus. A duty to perform and a performance that becomes a duty. The scream quiets inside Kirumi as Kaede's repetitive, consistent harmony attunes itself with Kirumi's heartbeat.

That changes quickly. A trumpet play decrescendos and Kaede takes center stage, yanking Kirumi's heart along with it. Her fingers fly over the keys, bouncing from note to note, dancers like those that danced on Kirumi's flowers. The crowd perks up and some begin to whoop and cheer with each flourish that Kaede plays. Exhilarated, Kaede throws her head back and Kirumi can feel herself pulled along as Kaede's hair whips through the air. The crowd cheers. They stand and applaud through Kaede's solo.

Kirumi is alone again. The crowd pulses with drunken energy as Kaede's music inspires even the most mild-mannered to respond to her playing, as if they are part of the performance. But Kirumi can't move. Her back is locked and her hands folded pleasantly in her lap. The smell of bodies invades her nostrils and she feels the desire to return after the performance to scrub the place the down. The scream, the scream, the goddamned scream. It rages in its cage. Thrashing, scarring, Kirumi contemplates letting it out.

Before she can, her eyes meet Kaede's and she's not alone anymore. A blush instantly appears on Kirumi's face and she wonders if Kaede can see it. It doesn't matter because in Kaede's eyes, there's only a wild, untamed kindness. Indiscriminatory, loving. A flower that waits to bloom. While the crowd chants to crush the spider, Kaede holds Kirumi in her hand and whispers secrets in her ear. The scream relents. Not out of exasperation, but because it's all too aware it will be released tonight.

The song ends and the crowd's cheering only amplifies. The cycle repeats, song after song after song. Until, finally, Kaede takes her bow. She's a goddess, worshipped by the crowd. A true performer. Kirumi's heart pounds against her ribs as she claps.

She escapes backstage and the crowd begins milling around, speaking in excited tones about how phenomenal the performance was. Kirumi twirls her empty snifter between her fingers, a soft smile on her face.

Ryoma takes a cigarette from his pocket and sticks it in his mouth. Kirumi's first instinct is to get after him for it, but he simply winks at her and silently leaves the building.

Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, the crowd thins considerably. Coats and purses are picked up as people shuffle towards the exit. But Kirumi stays in her seat, legs crossed. More than a few people make passes at her but she politely brushes them off.

Finally, Kaede appears in the midst of the crowd holding a fruity martini. She grins when she sees Kirumi and dashes over, embracing the maid in a one armed hug.

"Kirumi! How did you like it?" Kaede says. Her breath is heavy with alcohol and her swaying is only offset by holding onto Kirumi's shoulder.

"It was absolutely marvelous, Kaede. Brilliant work." The compliments are genuine, from the heart.

Kaede giggles and blushes. "I'm so happy you're here." She looks around the club. "Where's Ryoma?"

Kirumi bites her lip for a second then says, "He was not feeling well, so he left when you finished."

Pouting slightly, Kaede says, "Aww, I was hoping to hear what he thought."

"He was entranced. As was I."

"Kirumi, you're too sweet!" Kaede replies. She quickly downs the rest of her drink.

Grabbing the glass and setting it on the table, Kirumi asks, "How much have you had tonight?"

"Not much, promise." As she says this, Kaede loses her balance and tumbles directly into Kirumi's lap. Both girls blush and yet neither makes any attempt to move. "Okay," Kaede admits, "Maybe a bit a much."

Silence falls over the girls. The scream takes over Kirumi. It moves her arms so that on supports Kaede's back and the other lays gingerly on her bare calf. Kaede nestles her way into Kirumi's chest and lets out a content sigh. Resting her chin on Kaede's, Kirumi takes in the smell of Kaede's shampoo. A delicate scent of jasmine.

"Kirumi," Kaede whispers as if they're alone. "Thank you."

"For what?" Kirumi whispers back. 

"For coming." Kaede rubs Kirumi's shoulder. "I couldn't feel my hands until I saw you. I thought I was going to freeze. But I saw you and… and I felt like I could do anything."

Rubbing Kaede's back in small circles, Kirumi says, "Of course, Kaede, I would do anything for you."

Kaede lifts her head from Kirumi's shoulder and stares into her eyes. Kirumi swallows hard. Those big purple eyes hold her in a trance. "Just for me?"

Kirumi almost responds with "for anybody," but something in Kaede's tone catches her off-guard. There's a hope in Kaede's words, a hope that Kirumi will say yes. No, she can't. That's not what a maid does. A maid is available for all at any time. A maid cannot be selfish. Kirumi should not be selfish.

Ryoma's words echo in her mind. She's not a maid, she's a human. Humans are selfish, greedy creatures.

"Just for you, Kaede," Kirumi breathes out.

Kaede bursts into a smile and tears prick her eyes. She tries to blink them away but more just take their places. She doesn't say anything, she just waits. Waits for Kirumi to make her move. Her face is obvious. Kaede licks her lips. An invitation. But they both know that Kirumi has to be the one to accept.

The scream escapes.

Kirumi kisses Kaede. A kiss that puts all others to shame. A kiss with the passion of Kaede's music, the dedication of Kirumi's service, the beauty of a flower, the wit of a spider. Kaede wraps Kirumi's hair in her hand and pulls Kirumi as close to her as she can.

The scream that built in Kirumi for years is released into the kiss. A selfish, indulgent kiss that Kirumi takes with absolute hunger.

It only ends when a bartender taps Kirumi on the shoulder with a pained look on his face. "Excuse me, but, uh, could you please take that somewhere else."

Kirumi flushes considerably and mumbles out a quick apology as she and Kaede gather their things to head back to Hope's Peak, hand-in-hand. Kirumi holds Kaede's purse and heels so that Kaede can cradle the bouquet in her other. They talk about sweet nothings the entire way back. They're well past curfew, but Kaede can probably swing it so that they were just "developing their talents" if they get caught.

Luckily, the old security guard is fast asleep at his post. The two sneak past and make it to the dorm area without getting caught. Kirumi hands Kaede her things as they stand by their respective doors.

"Thanks again, Kirumi," Kaede says, attempting to juggle a few too many things. "I… I don't think I would've been able to do it without you."

Kirumi cups Kaede's cheek. "I believe I can say the same to you."

Kaede tries to grab her card key out of her purse, which almost sends the flowers tumbling. Kirumi catches them and says, "Perhaps I can help you get all of this inside."

Pausing for a moment, Kaede fixes Kirumi with a curious expression. Before Kirumi can ask for clarification, Kaede says, "I'd like that. And maybe…  maybe you don't have to leave?"

Attempting to ignore the profound blush on her face, Kirumi can only nod. Kaede licks her lips and opens the door. The two barely set everything down before they crash onto the bed, wrapped in each other's embrace. The pianist and the maid. No, two young women entwined in each other's love, pecking soft kisses on each other and giggling in delight. They pull the blanket over themselves and share the pillow.

That night, for the first time in quite a while, Kirumi sleeps soundly.

 

-

 

The next morning, Kirumi is standing in front of the line of washing machines. Sunday is always laundry day. The rumbling of the machines is soothing to Kirumi. The morning is still early. Only a few of the early risers are up at this time. It's a moment of quiet before the storm.

Behind her, Kaede sits at a table, reading a magazine and sipping on tea infused with syrup specially designed by the Ultimate Chef to combat hangovers. There's a community supply in the fridge.

The two don't say much of anything except for when Kaede points out a lovely piano in the catalogue, but they don't need to. Kirumi smiles in confidence that when Kaede looks at her, she sees Kirumi Tojo, not just the Ultimate Maid.

Acting on a whim, Kirumi slides behind Kaede and wraps her arms around the other girl's shoulders. Moving is bizarre. The heaviness caused by the scream weighed her down for so long that now Kirumi feels as if she floats everywhere.

Kaede nuzzles Kirumi's hand and Kirumi kisses her cheek. A low chuckle comes from the entrance to the room. Both girls look up to see Ryoma standing there, tennis racket in hand. A rare sight.

"Looks like things went well," he says, rolling the candy cigarette in his mouth.

Kaede, flustered, responds, "D-don't tell me you planned this!"

Ryoma laughs in earnest. "Not exactly, but I could tell it'd be better if I wasn't around."

"Still," Kirumi says softly, "It was kind of you to join me."

"Anytime." Ryoma moves to leave but turns and says, "By the way, Kokichi set another glue trap outside Angie's door. You probably sho-"

A high pitched cackle echoes through the halls. Kokichi dashes by, chased by Tenko shouting something about rearranging Kokichi's innards, then followed by Angie with a multitude of cardboard pieces glued to her.

"Yeah, that." Ryoma shrugs. "I know you've got stuff to do but…"  
"It is no worry, I will take care of it," Kirumi says, meaning it. She bows and Ryoma waves goodbye to both Kirumi and Kaede.

"It never ends, does it?" Kaede says, a wistful smile on her face.

From the other end of the hallway, "MOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!! Tenko's being mean to me!"

Kirumi chuckles into her glove and shakes her head. "No it does not."

"Join me for dinner?" Kaede offers.

"Anything for you."

"Only for me?"

"Only for you." A brief kiss.

Kirumi checks the laundry machines. Plenty of time left to catch Kokichi and settle the others. As she heads out, she thinks of what flowers will replace the ones wilting in her room. You know, maybe not flowers this time. Something more lasting. A bonsai tree. Something she can care for and lasting.

Something, someone she can love.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> GYAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. HOLY FUCK IT'S DONE.
> 
> I have written, re-written, deleted, written again, cried and agonized, drank myself into a stupor, and then written this fic over and over again. It has gone through six iterations, most of which weren't even the final pairing.
> 
> If I'm honest, I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I don't think I ever will be.
> 
> I just want Kirumi to have some happiness dammit!
> 
> Sigh... as always, comments and critique are welcome! Ima go cry in a corner now.


End file.
